On the internet, I seem to say whatever I feel at the time. It's as if I have no filters. It just comes pouring out.

In real life, face to face, I mostly say nothing. But then, no one ever listens anyway, so that may have a lot to do with it.

The big fat cat squashed the tiny kitten flat. Scrape him off the floor. You ain't got a kitten no more.

I have a friend who once tried to raise a puppy who was half wolf. "He's sooooo beautiful," she said. "Yes, and he's going to kill you," I replied. She eventually had to give him up when he grew to be bigger than her and tried to eat her. But I'll have to admit, he was a beautiful dog.

Girls don't play. And when they get mad, smart boys run like hell.

I was always a faster runner than almost anyone I knew. But I've clearly slowed down recently. Now the women catch up to me and I have to beg for my life.

Either my truck has eaten the spark plugs, or it's about to die altogether. And yet I work on My Wife's car instead. I'm either a great husband, or a total wuss.

I have to pee like mad, but I don't feel like getting up to go to the bathroom. Is that extreme laziness, or just a really macho bladder?

I just got back from the gym. I have no idea what the hell I was doing, but now I hurt, so it must have been right.

I think the owner of the local sandwich shop has put his daughter to work there in his absence. She's pretty. I started to hit on her, but then I remembered that whole not being as fast as I once was thing and decided not to. It's probably just as well. She could've spit in my sandwich.

Everyone tells me that the local cops are monsters. I have yet to actually meet one. I'm starting to think it's a myth, like the Loc Ness Monster, or Janet Reno.

The shoulder that I separated in a soccer game 2 or 3 years ago is bugging the hell out of me. I wish I could find the guy that did this to me and boot him through the air like a penalty kick. I might just keep booting him all around the field, sort of like Frisbee golf, only with my foot instead of throwing with my hand. And a person I dislike instead of the Frisbee, of course.

I think my favorite blogger in the whole world is really seriously mad at me. I've never even seen this person's face, and yet I feel worse than if I'd slapped my own mother. Although, to be fair, there have been times that my mother could've stood a good slapping.

I'm still hearing news stories about how upset Oprah is that her feminist girls-only school in South Africa had a woman in it who sexually abused some girls. What did she expect? I was sent to a school run by feminist women, too. I could've told Oprah what was going to happen. Why do I have all this knowledge and yet no one ever asks me to use it to help them? Oprah, you dumb bitch, you need to call me.

Word in the news is that almost every American woman is going to vote for Hillary Clinton simply because she's a woman. If a man were to say this, he'd be called a sexist. Actually, what it sounds like is that the media is trying to convince American women that all the other American women are going to vote for her, so therefore, they should, too. It's another stereotype based on sex, but it seems to work.

OK, my bladder is finally giving up. Time to go pee.

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